We have a 130-lbs Rottweiler who wears a pink collar and sits with her paws crossed.  Naturally, we call her Princess.  Whether it's irony or simple observation, there can be great power in a name.

The Judge

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Last week's winner and this week's judge is Robin Abess.  You can follow her on Twitter @Angelique_Rider:

"Writer, nature lover, singer, GEEK, eccentric, NaNoWriMo Nut...you name it! I love being in a roomful of people who are singing along to 'Dr. Horrible'!"
[Host's Note: if you haven't seen Neil Patrick Harris' performance in Dr Horrible you should.  Google it!]

The Prompt

They call her Princess

The Rules

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Comments

06/25/2012 07:04

Exiled Queen
By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“They call her princess,” Kale snorted. I looked away from the old woman, trying not to stare but unable to help myself as my eyes drifted back to her. She was filthy and I could smell her stench from across the street; a combination of shit and body odor. I doubted she’d bathed …ever.

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

Kale snorted again and I winced at the harsh tone of his voice. “Like what? She’s been in and out of the psych ward…I personally hauled her in once myself. The bitch spit on me. She’s crazy, but not so crazy that they can keep her there.

“Still…” My voice trailed off as I looked the woman over. Through the stench and the dirty clothes, there was a human being under there, one who once had to have been somebody’s love. Her dress was pink…I think, with lots of frills. It looked like it once had been a prom dress. Maybe she’d found it in the garbage, but I doubted that’s where she’d found the tiara on her head. It looked expensive. I was surprised she hadn’t been mugged for it. The words exiled Queen, entered my mind. “What about the homeless shelters?”

“Again, they’ve tried. She won’t stay…and they won’t take her anymore.”

The woman stood, adjusted her dress and scratched at her crotch, all the while carrying on a heated conversation with someone I couldn’t see. She started screaming, “You give it back to me! It’s mine you whore!”

“Sheesh,” I said, when she reached out and slapped thin air. “Are you sure she’s not crazy?”

“Just barely,” Kale said. “Let’s go.” He took my arm and started to guide me away from the park. It was only my first day on the beat and Kale was anxious to show me the rest of the rout. I looked back at the old woman. She was staring at me, anger raging in her eyes. When she saw me staring back, she flipped me the bird, then took her cart and moved off in the opposite direction.

The end of my shift finally came and I drug my butt home, shuffling my feet up the stairs to my apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Kicking off my shoes I fell backwards onto the sofa, my hands reaching for the remote. A huge history buff, I flipped the channel and watched a program on an obsolete royal family. I missed what country they ruled, but the family feud and backstabbing as each member made a grab for control, was entertaining. Suddenly a picture appeared on screen of a young princess. She had disappeared the day before she was to become queen. That was over thirty years ago. Instead, her cousin took the royal crown.

Sleepily, I blinked my eyes, wondering why the pink dress and tiara looked familiar.

“Give it back to me, It’s mine you whore!”

“Son of a bitch!” I screamed, reaching for my phone.

Word Count: 496
@jezri1

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06/25/2012 07:10

"They call her 'Princess.'"

"Princess?"

"That's right. She came along when little Jennifer was only four years old. Jen said the name HAD to be 'Princess.'"

"So they went with that?"

"She wouldn't accept anything else."

"Kind of makes you wonder which one is REALLY the princess, doesn't it."

"Well, Jen is only six, now, so princesses are still a big part of her imagination. She still dresses up in pretend gowns and tiaras and has afternoon tea with all of her dolls. She'll even dress up 'Princess' for the occasion - well, as much as she's able. Of course, now Jenny has started school, so Princess waits out here for her, dressed in pink, as usual."

"Okay, but just one thing: 'Princess' is a male."

"Shhhh! I know that and you know that, but do YOU want to be the one to tell Princess that? She's a Rottweiler and we're just a couple of Shelties."

155 Words
@LupusAnthropos

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06/25/2012 11:06

They call her Princess and she rules her kingdom well. She is royalty and enjoys all that reigning entails. Oh you want to know about the Princess?

She loves her servants to groom her hair, but she hates baths and prefers quick showers if in water at all. She is demanding but well loved by all her people. She bathes her dependents in adoration while demanding her wants and her needs. She makes sure her subjects are up at the crack of dawn so they can be laborious. With a flex of her eyebrow she silently makes her wishes known; other times she makes her wishes known with a variety of vocalizations that her vassals understand all too well.
The princess is a solitary hunter most productive and shares her bounty with her citizens. And yet her subjects dare not be late with her food, lest she retaliates and they find themselves not in her favour. Her sense of smell is acute and she shares this with her. Princess loves the outdoors the sun most of all but hates the winter preferring to hibernate and do only the minimal of tasks during the winter. She is the best of companions given to talk when talk is needed and to give her subjects comfort when it is needed. I should know for I am the subject she picked as her favourite.
Another thing to remember about Princess, she doesn’t take no for an answer. The Princess is calling me even now I must go.
“Ouch. Her claws have come out to pierce me. It seems I forgot to feed the Princess on time and she wants to eat immediately. Forget what you’ve been told about cats, I don’t own Princess she owns me.”
292 words

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06/25/2012 11:07

oops it left off my twitter name @SweetSheil

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06/25/2012 11:09

it left out words so I re-posted.

They call her Princess and she rules her kingdom well. She is royalty and enjoys all that reigning entails. Oh you want to know more about the Princess?
She loves her servants to groom her hair, but she hates baths and prefers quick showers if in water at all. She is demanding but well loved by all her people. She bathes her dependents in adoration while demanding her wants and her needs. She makes sure her subjects are up at the crack of dawn so they can be laborious. With a flex of her eyebrow she silently makes her wishes known; other times she makes her wishes known with a variety of vocalizations that her vassals understand all too well.
The princess is a solitary hunter most productive and shares her bounty with her citizens. And yet her subjects dare not be late with her food, lest she retaliates and they find themselves not in her favour. Her sense of smell is acute and she shares this with her vassals. Princess loves the outdoors the sun most of all but hates the winter preferring to hibernate and do only the minimal of tasks during the winter. She is the best of companions given to talk when talk is needed and to give her subjects comfort when it is needed. I should know for I am the subject she picked as her favourite.
Another thing to remember about Princess, she doesn’t take no for an answer. The Princess is calling me even now I must go.
“Ouch. Her claws have come out to pierce me. It seems I forgot to feed the Princess on time and she wants to eat immediately. Forget what you’ve been told about cats, I don’t own Princess she owns me.”
293 words
@SweetSheil

06/25/2012 11:37

“They call her princess,” the man said, as I looked at the cutter.

“It’s a beautiful craft. And they wish to sell it?”

“Yes, sir! They wish to sell it. Are you interested?”

I was indeed. I was looking for someplace different. A place I could escape to every night after work. A place I could go to be alone. And wouldn’t be found. So I could write. So I could rest. So I could escape my life.

“Well, sir. This is one little beauty you just might want to avoid.”

I asked him what he meant. That’s when he told me the story of the cutter named “Princess”.

“The family that owns her now bought her 2 years ago. They bought her so he could have a place to hide. A place to be alone. To escape the demands of cutter masthis life. He and his family went out on her every weekend. Until two months ago. When he took her out alone.”

“They found Princess floating about 12 miles off the coast. All her sails were down. Neatly folded away. No one was on board. Two weeks later his body washed up on the rocks down by the fishing dock.”

He then told me another story. “The previous owners sold Princess after she was found 16 miles off the coast of Cape Hatteras. The sails all neatly folded and put away. No one on board. And two weeks later, the husband’s body washed up on beach, close to Frisco.”

“Mr. That boat’s been found six times now. And always it’s been the same. An owner took that boat out, alone, and washed up on the shore two weeks later. They started calling her princess because it was always the husband that never came back.”

“You still interested in her? The only thing I’d do with her is put her in a horror museum somewhere, with a plaque that says they named her princess ‘cause of how she treated men.”

I laughed. It was a good legend. I thanked him for talking with me. Then I went and looked up the history of the cutter called princess. The old guy was right. All six previous owners had sold her after she’d been found out a sea. And all six owners had washed up on the shore two weeks later.

No one could explain it.

I told myself it would be OK. I wasn’t married to anyone. And only married guys had died on Princess. So, I bought her. I got her for a great price. And I started taking her out on weekends. Until one weekend in particular. The weekend that changed everything.

453 words
@LurchMunster

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06/25/2012 11:54

Delusions of Grandeur
@michelawalters
133 words

They call her princess to her face, knowing she won’t accept anything less from her royal subjects. She allows them to cater to her every whim, bringing her food, drink and even escort her to the showers, where she is bathed beneath a cascade of hot spring warmed water.

She gets lonely in her ivory tower, with only her attendants to converse with, but it is better than no one at all. She dreams of gilded castles and jewels of every hue. Yet what she doesn’t know is that every week her mother comes to her room and asks those watching over her how she’s doing.

“Her delusions are worse this week. We’ll need to adjust her medication again,” the doctor whispers behind the iron door confining the princess to her padded cell.

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06/25/2012 16:15

Gosh, you give me the ability to write 500 words and I will *go.*Yay, my first entry!

***


“They call her Princess,” Armand said.

“Who?” his friend asked. “The little girl? I can see why.” Gin leaned into the aisle and watched as the small girl walked toward them. What she was doing in a galactic prison was beyond him. Sure, she must have killed, but with poison or something. Because with the size she was she couldn’t do much physically.

She wore clunky black boots, and was covered from neck to ankle in leather. And she covered it all with a leather duster. Gin wondered how she didn’t fall out from heat exhaustion or dehydration in the muggy prison.

“No, they don’t call her that to her face, idiot,” Armand hissed as she walked nearer. “Shut up, man. Just shut up.”

His friend turned him, laughing. “Are you joking?” But Armand didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead. His friend punched his arm. “Dude, what is the issue? It’s just a little girl.”

“Am I?” a small voice asked from right in front of him.

Gin turned and crouched. Somehow the aisle of open cells went even quieter and Gin looked around. However, his attention was snapped back front and center when the little girl grabbed his shirt in her two hands. It almost felt like when his daughter had clambered up his body for hugs. But what happened next was nothing like anything his daughter would ever do.

“Princess” leaned into his face and parted her lips. Rows of sharp teeth lined her mouth and he wondered how the hell she closed it. He only wondered this briefly, as the next moment a great wind whipped her leather duster around them and everything he ever loved went flying out of his mouth and into black abyss that was hers.

His daughter. His ex-wife. His booze. His dog.

They were suddenly gone and he was sitting on his ass, trying to remember them. “Princess” was sauntering away down the aisle.

He looked up at his friend Armand. “What just happened?”

“Learned you first lesson here.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t call her ‘Princess’ and never point out that she’s a little girl.”

Gin stood and rubbed his head. “I’m forgetting something.”

Armand looked at him grimly. “And hopefully, she was nice and you’ll remember it one day.”

@J_M_Blackman
377

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06/25/2012 17:16

They call her Princess and give her sweet candies to eat. Their intention is to be affectionate, but Lara can’t help wincing every time she hears Kaitlyn referred to as royalty. These people are dirt poor and isolated from any semblance of civilization—but they’ve never known the deprivations that the little girl they try to pamper has.

Kaitlyn would be happy here. Right? These people can give her a good life, free from Lady Martel. Right?

“Did I do something wrong?” Kaitlyn’s voice startles Lara.

“What?”

Kaitlyn’s little fist is balled in Lara’s skirt, her good left eye overflows with desperate apologies. Lara purchased crisp clean clothes and a fresh eye-patch for the little girl, admittedly out of this frontier family’s means.

“I promise I’ll do better! I’ll make up for whatever I did, just please don’t leave me here!”

“Kaitlyn,” Lara drops to her knees to look into Kaitlyn’s auburn eye. “You didn’t do anything wrong! But I have to think about what’s best for you. These people can give you a good life, and they’ll love you.”

Shaking her ash-brown curls violently Kaitlyn buries her face in Lara’s shoulder, hugging her tightly.

“I want to go with you! Don’t leave me behind!”

Lara strokes the trembling girl’s back firmly. At least she is up to a better weight for her height now; though who knew if either is normal for her age?

Carefully Lara works her words out around the knot in her throat, “Shhh… I know how you feel, but it’s too dangerous for you to come with me.”

“I don’t care! I love you, Lara!”

Her little friend’s words are true. Lara can feel Kaitlyn’s love filling her like the most wonderful spring of light. Kaitlyn has become Lara’s strength and her world—she would have never found the will to continue this hopeless war with God if it weren’t for this little girl who believes in her.

“I love you too, Kaitlyn.”


328 words
@DavidALudwig

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06/25/2012 20:30

“They call her Princess.”

Corlith’s eyes widened and he shot a glance over at Siriana. “Princess?”

“Yes.”

“Of whom?” Corlith gestured to the barren canyonlands around them. “Of the rocks and sand?”

Thomlin offered him a half-smile. “There are many things you do not understand about us, goblin.”

“Forgive me if I don’t act suitably impressed.” Corlith’s voice had grown dry. “There’s nothing quite like overweening arrogance to make me just want to say, ‘Yeah, I’m done’.” He scratched his jaw with the fingers of one bound hand. “Trust me, I get enough arrogance in the court at home. I certainly didn’t come all the way across the continent to collect yours. Plus, this” – He shook his bound wrists in the air – “doesn’t exactly promote respect and amiability.”

He knew he wasn’t making a good impression, but between the superior attitude of his captors, the loss of his gear, and the pain in his balls, he couldn’t find it within himself to be cordial.

“You will be respectful, goblin, or I’ll–”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” Corlith huffed a humorless laugh. “Believe me, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

An eerie, high-pitched a snarl erupted from Thomlin just before he reached for Corlith’s throat. Corlith snarled back at him with a mocking smile, wanting nothing more than to pummel the asshole in an all-out brawl. It would help if his hands were free, but he’d make do.

“By all that’s holy, stop!”

Siriana’s voice rang through their combined growls and grunts, but Corlith would be damned if he stopped first. Besides, he had a mouthful of ear and he wasn’t going to let go without serious encouragement.

<i>Ha! As if one female could ever do that.</i>

The first blow took him to the back of the head. Disoriented and seeing stars, Corlith turned on the new threat just in time to be clocked under the jaw. He staggered to his knees and rolled onto his side, groaning. <i>Hellwinds, what was that?</i>

“You done? I no need more trouble.” Siriana switched her burning gaze between Corlith and his adversary, her mouth set in a grim line. Corlith grunted his assent, not quite able to nod with his head still ringing like a bell.

Siriana clicked and whistled in her odd native language at Thomlin, her voice managing to sound furious despite the odd trills. Corlith angled his head to look at the other male, and a surge of vindication slid through him. Thomlin had been laid out just as hard as he had.

“Get up.” Siriana stood over him, her expression implacable. “We need to go.”

“You expect me to walk after you beat the hell out of me?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going far?”

“Yes. Get up.” She dragged him to his feet, where he stood swaying. At least the pain in his balls had receded.

“I don’t think I can go too far.”

She gave a one shouldered shrug. “You shoulda thought that before you did stupid things. Now march.”

496 #WIP500 words
@SiobhanMuir

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06/25/2012 21:20

“They call her Princess?” I clutched a hand to my side where the ‘Princess’ had dug her claws through. “She’s going to kill us all. The trees, the dryads, the entire grove.”

Lightning hot pain shot through me and the world went dark.

“I think I need a hospital. Or a field medic. Someone with morphine or grain alcohol on hand.” Someone who could convince my insides the outside world didn’t have much to offer. “Fucking hell, I should have stayed in my own world. What the hell kind of princess shares her ancestry with Wolverine?”

“Wolverine?”

“Short dude,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Hairy. Big claws.”

“I do not know the fellow.” Adrius shook his head. He scooped me up and lay me flat in the soft grass. His hands found the hole in my side and his voice was less steady when he said, “Circe—there’s so much blood.”

I don’t think he meant me to hear the last part, but I caught the hitch in his voice and my gaze snapped up to his too pale face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t wimp out on me now,” I said. “It’s time to break out your big, bad druid self.”

“Why did she attack you?”

“She seems powerful possessive when it comes to you.”

His cheeks flushed slightly.

“And she thinks I’m your mate.”

His hands shook as he pressed down on the wound too hard. I hissed in response.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s kinda funny,” I said on a pained exhalation. “I told you something along those lines. Seems you’re the odd man out on the disbelief train.”

“I do not understand, Circe.” He took a steadying breath and murmured something low and foreign. When he finished, his eyes glowed with power and the pain in my side receded. “You cannot be mine. My mate—she no longer knows me. The princess saw to that a dozen lives ago.”

“Wait a minute.” All the slot machine sevens lined up. “She wants you.”

“She did, yes.”

“So a princess staked a claim.”

“She has been called Princess as long as I’ve known her,” Adrius said. “To be honest, I think even she’s forgotten her name, but once upon a time her title meant something. And she was very powerful.”

“Not the kind of woman to cross.”

Adrius wouldn’t look me in the eye. “No. Decidedly not.”

“Now I know I should have stayed in my own world or dimension or whatever.”

Amber eyes found and held mine.

“No.”

One word, but in it a wealth of meaning. I placed my hand over his heart and watched the future we were meant to have stretch out before me. I wanted to ask if he believed, if having some crazed demon princess rip me apart made it real.

I climbed to my feet, pushing away the help Adrius offered.

“Circe—”

“Come find me if you ever believe,” I said. “Until then, I have a crazed princess to stop.”

@caramichaels
500 #WIP500 words

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06/25/2012 23:34

They call her ‘princess’ when she has to play the part but once she steps out of that gown, people call her by her given name, ‘Fredericka’, or pay the price. Well, Kato calls her Freddie, but he can get away with it. He’s bold like that. Or lucky. All I know is, if I talked to her that way, I’m pretty sure she’d slit my throat before I finished the first sentence.

Guess that’s what it’s like, being in love. You make allowances for people and situations. You put yourself out for love. You take risks, walk into walls blind and notice the smallest details. You sacrifice your time and happiness, even your life for love. And for what? To lose the camaraderie of your fellows, your stipend and your privacy? Pretty sure I don’t have the stomach for love.

Still, Kato’s not so bad for a lovesick fool. Bunks with us most of the time and eats his meals with us. Even brung her royal highness along a few times. Course, she doesn’t actually eat with us. They don’t let her eat in public now. Not after her brother was poisoned last year. Nope, she has to eat at home, with the prisoners as taste testers. That stopped the rebellion for quite a spell.

I don’t suppose that’s such a bad way to go, though. You get a right good meal before you keel over. Wouldn’t mind being known as the guy who stood in for the girl who’s gonna rule us all. Not that I got a death wish, just that I’m nothing special so if I had the chance to step up and take the sharp end of a blade for the crown, I’d do it.

Hey, don’t go mistaking me. I am nobody’s hero. Just saying it would be a shame to waste all that beautiful blood when I got plain old thick as mud red syrup in my veins and willing to spill for a good cause. Before you try to correct me about the blood, you’re wrong. I know how beautiful it is because it ruined my favorite shirt that night I carried her home after we was ambushed.

She didn’t weigh nothing in my arms. So soft and smelling of lavender. Her long fingers wrapped around my neck, her face buried in my chest, breath warm and sweet against my skin. Course once she came to, she threatened to gut me. Think it must have happened then, the tightness in my chest that never leaves me. It’s the fear of her, right?

Now I wear that shirt, under my uniform, close to my skin, like she was, once a long time ago, or maybe it was only yesterday. Now Kato’s prospects aren’t half as promising as mine. Now her eyes search for mine and I let her find them, holding her gaze with bold eyes. Now they call her princess, but I will kiss her mouth and call her my queen.



@bullishink / 499 words

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06/26/2012 05:24

They call her Princess. And she acts like one too. A regal poise, a well-shaped body. She also rules the roost when she wants to, glowering at those who get in her way. It never is an easy thing to do but she also makes sure that anyone who newly arrives knows who the boss is. There isn’t a chance to really have anyone come up and push her off the pedestal.

It was her way or the highway and if no one liked it, well they were just going to have to deal. Princess had an easy five hundred pounds on the rest of the horses and she liked to bite to make them get away, especially if they were by the hay. All it took was pinned ears to try some prime spot and it was hers.

It helped to be a Belgian draft horse with hooves the size of a human’s head.

155 words
@solimond

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06/26/2012 07:06

“They call her Princess.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

He waves his pudgy, tobacco stained fingers towards the general direction of anonymous, buck toothed yokels scattered throughout the room. As he does this a long ash falls from his cigarette, landing on his massive belly. I watch the ash tumble down his grease stained wife beater to land on his lap, where it rests, adequately camouflaged within the like coloured fabric.

“Why do they call her that?” I ask. My gaze pulls back towards the topic of our conversation. She is unnaturally blonde, probably in her thirties. Sad blue eyes are framed with a smattering of crinkles. I find them attractive, almost inviting. Staring, I will her to look at me. I want to see if I can make smile. If she feels my attention, she ignores it, staring instead into her near empty rock glass. I briefly consider buying her a refill but the fat man beside me distracts me from my thoughts.

“They call her sister Goddess,” he says, instead of answering my question. “You should get a load of her. She’s got tits out to here,” he makes the appropriate gesture. Or inappropriate, depending. It occurs to me that he also has “tits out to here”.

“Does she have any other sisters?”

“Yep.” He crushes his cigarette into a filthy ashtray and immediately lights another. “Four of ‘em, not including Mistress. All by different daddies.”

Why wouldn’t they include Mistress? Instead I asked, “What are their names?”

“Huntress, Temptress, Songstress and Buttress.”

“Buttress?” I say, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice. “Has a sizeable ass, does she?”

His bushy eyebrows pinch together, causing the optical illusion of a unibrow. “Don’t be crass,” says the man. Then he belches and pounds on his sternum a few times. Another belch escapes him and a stench hangs between us like a dead carcass in a butcher’s shop. He seems satisfied with this emission and unclenches his fist. “Buttress is no joke. She’s an angel of a woman. Works her ass off tending to her dyin’ step daddy and supporting Princess’s way through community college.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. My apology is genuine, and I silently chastise myself for allowing the steaming pile of a man beside me to become my moral superior. I decide to blame my slip of character on the unusual setting I have found myself in.

“’Sides,” said the man. “Her mamma is the real joke...they call her Mattress.”

415 words
@mcmillendc

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Chris Pearson
06/26/2012 07:29

So I did this wrong, and totally thought the prompt was the first two sentences on the page. :( I sort of half-ass corrected it.

They call her Princess.

We have a 130-lbs Rottweiler who wears a pink collar and sits with her paws crossed. Naturally, we call her Princess. Whether it's irony or simple observation, there can be great power in a name.

I wonder what that says about me.

Princess and I used to go on these long walks in the city. We’d start in the old bagel shop near the highway, I’d get some croissant or something and we’d leave Sausalito, cross the bridge and head to the marina. That alone is at least four or five miles to walk, but I really needed to get away from my family back then, not because they were bad or anything, but just because, for whatever reason, I needed to distance myself from my house, my dad, my mom, my brother, my sisters. So I walked with princess, and the walks were long because there wasn’t a whole lot else to do. I liked the feeling of the bay air, of crossing the barrier the water made, heading into something different from Sausalito, my hometown. Plus there’s the bridge. Walking on that bridge…well that’s something else entirely.

Anyone who’s been on the Golden Gate Bridge knows what I’m talking about. That bridge has a certain energy to it, something you feel inside you as you look at it from inside the city, or walk along its edge.

The feeling isn’t necessarily a good one, and that’s why it used to creep me out so much. The feeling is of peace, happiness, an internal song being sung that says for you to jump, to leave it all behind. The water below is nice, it says. Better than where you stand is where you could be swimming, it says. I don’t think I’m the only one who noticed that feeling, and Princess, being the good little baby that she is, would always be anxious to cross, tugging me as if the bridge wasn’t a million tons of steel, but the rickety planks of a drawbridge near collapse. I think she knew somehow, that I wanted to jump.

This one time, on a summer Saturday when Princess and I were yet again heading out across the bridge, I saw a man jump. It was really early in the morning, and I think him and I were the only pedestrians on it. He was probably there for several minutes before doing it, the way I saw him standing there, looking into the water below, that looked so still when seen from the bridge, but so violent in reality. He’d, as if a consensus had been reached, lifted his right leg over the railing, then his left, and then he’d let go.

Nobody but me was around to see it in that dense fog, and nobody would ever know what I knew.

He was smiling when he hit the water.

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Chris
06/26/2012 07:30

@ChrisP922

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